


Vanity

by silamai



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Corpse Desecration, Gen, Murder
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-26
Updated: 2013-07-14
Packaged: 2017-12-13 01:45:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/818515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silamai/pseuds/silamai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A newly risen mage struggles with multiple conflicts: who is she, why was she dead so young, why has she come back?  From there it's a question of just what she's going to do about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue / For all that is good and holy why

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, this is the first time I've published fanfic in the last, like, 12 years. It's also been another 6 years since I've written period, so yeah. This is something I'm writing for myself and a couple of guild mates to point and laugh at. It's very soap opera and hopefully dark comedy at some point so brace yourself.

"And as for you, my pretty little pet..."  
He opened his cape with a flourish, revealing a small dagger sheathed at his side. He pulled it out, letting it glint in the light of the stage for the crowd to see. Several women in the audience gasped at the sight. Elennah took a step back, holding herself tightly.  
"What are you doing?" she demanded. This was the performance of her life. "Lord Stanton, have you gone mad?"  
She backed into the dresser, the mirror shaking behind her.  
He twirled the dagger in his hand, approaching her swiftly. His free hand shot forth and wrapped around her neck. His grip was much tighter than she would have liked; it would definitely leave bruises, but she used it.  
"I believed in you once," he said. "I believed that you were the voice of serenity, the heart of the world, the beauty of the stars. But now I see you for who you are. And you are nothing but a lie. A wicked, common lie!"  
"Lord St-Stanton," she choked out, and in a dramatic whisper, said, "I love you. I've made your happiness the center of my life."  
"And I shall have it back!"  
The crowd reacted with renewed vigour. She resisted the urge to smile. This play was becoming a bigger and bigger hit every passing moment she walked the stage. Now, at the climax of the play, she was at her peak energy. And with her lover, Hindon, as her co-star, she couldn't imagine any better way to perform.  
The grip tightened further around her throat and her air supply was cut short. Elennah looked up at the dagger, an intricate little design with a fake blade that would retract into the hilt when the stabbing commenced. She had seen it at least a hundred times in rehearsals, and knew every little bit of it intimately as Hindon used it on her with abandon.  
The metal of the dagger glinted in the magically enhanced staged lights. A glimpse of gold shimmered forth in front of her eyes.  
 _The hilt of the show-dagger is silver..._  
He grinned—a maniacal, full-toothed smile that created a pit of ice in her stomach. He drew his face in close, as if for a kiss, turning her away from the crowd.  
"Here's to you, Elennah," he whispered to her.  
He brought the dagger down.  
The pain was both like fire and ice as the metal pierced her chest. She threw her head back, the grip on her throat loosening enough to allow a shriek of agonizing terror pierce the air and reverberate through the hall. She drew away, fleeing upstage, the dagger still lodged deep inside of her. The blood was coursing down her gown, soaking her front for all the audience to see. Several people shouted in terror and awe at the sight. Elennah fumbled with the weapon, blood smearing all over her hands and causing the dagger to slip out of her grip with every attempt to wrest it free.  
A large hand reached around from behind her while the other held tight to her shoulder. She looked back. He took hold of the dagger in a tight grip, his eyes never leaving hers, and shoved it in the final inch.  
It started as a quick pinprick but from the speed at which the cold was spreading, she knew that he had pierced her heart. Her body was shutting down, her world going grey as more blood spread from the pumping organ. She felt nothing but the numbness spreading through her limbs as she collapsed to the floor, the thud sounding painfully distant.  
The curtain fell between them and the audience as her breathing slowed to a stop. He stood above her, his gaze never faltering, until someone from backstage called his name. He looked away and started for the voice.  
The roar of the crowd was the last thing she heard.

*

Fingers poked and prodded her, reaching underneath her body and pulling her up from a soft embrace. She heard voices, soft at first, but growing in volume until it was like roars immediately next to her ears. She tried to open her mouth to speak, but the effort was futile. And her eyes! Why couldn't she see? What was happening? Where was she?  
Her body was laid down once more, the coolness of dewy grass tickling her heels. She felt the moisture stick to her skin and disappear. Everything was so dry. Her career for a glass of water!  
"My my my," a raspy voice whispered from above her. "This _is_ an interesting one. The poor darling."  
Someone's hand stroked her face. The touch was cold in places, completely numb in others.  
"You require some dressing," the voice said. Was it to her? "You've shrunk some. It will hurt."  
 _What?_  
She felt a knife slice into her leg. She tried to pull away, but her body was so lethargic. What had this person done to her? The pain itself was oddly mute, though she still felt as the chilled metal cut into the thigh. When it was removed she felt the cold presence of a liquid being spread about the skin. Again it seeped through. _A poison,_ she thought. Something to keep her paralyzed and dumb as this man butchered her.  
She tried to focus, remember what had happened before this. Had she been kidnapped? But from where? Try as she might, she couldn't remember anything from before.  
She wasn't even sure of her own name.  
They were pulling at her flesh now, stretching it down, down, down to encompass her thigh. The skin began to pull back but immediately she felt tiny stabs followed by a coarse burning. When the skin began to stay in place she realised that whoever this person was, they were now sewing flaps of her skin together. Revulsion picked at the fogginess of her brain, but she was still unable to react. Whimpers escaped her throat but stopped at her closed lips.  
"Now now, dear, this will all be over soon. You'll come to understand in time that what I'm doing is for the best."  
There was a brief pause. She took the moment of respite to attempt to collect herself. Maybe if she concentrated she could figure something out.  
However, the knife found its way into her body again, cutting off her train of thought with the feel of cold metal grating against her bones.  
 _Why do I feel so little pain?_ she wondered. It was so quiet that she could hear the ripping of her body tissue as it was cut apart. The whole world around her was too quiet. She couldn't even hear the person above her breathing.  
She herself wasn't breathing, save to moan.  
She tried to inhale through her nose but the effort was ludicrously short-lived. She couldn't take much breath in. Her chest would rattle in her attempt, and the breath would shutter back out.  
The knife paused. "My darling, there really is no need to panic. Your lungs have atrophied some but with a bit of stretching and a little extra work on my part we can improve your breathing capacity," after which he muttered, "not that it's really necessary seeing as how you no longer need to breathe."  
The knife was removed and once more the liquid was applied to her skin. Her moaning had dissolved to a small whimper, ignored by the man above her as he continued to talk through his torture.  
"I'm afraid I can't do much about the joints, mind you. Your thighs are well preserved—well, you yourself are well preserved, given the state of your last bed and the condition you've been left in. Your caretaker must have cared about you very much to go to all that extra effort to close off any extra orifices for the insects. They even sealed the blasted thing off with magic. You're much better off than quite a few of the others.  
"As I was saying, your thighs will be stiff at first from the stretching but your ankles and knees will be fine, if not better than before. Pure bone tends to hyperextend a bit, but once you get into the swing of things you'll be able to outrun most any natural human being. Trust me, that will come in handy.  
"As for your fingers...well, it's better to just leave them like that. Agatha felt the presence of the arcane from the grave—" Grave? "—which means that you are no doubt some kind of arcane user and you'll need that extra flexibility for spell casting. We'll find out the specifics later.  
"Now then, your body is a bit, well...but let's be honest, darling, no one is going to care at this point. You can cover it up with clothing if you're that embarrassed. I wouldn't recommend tanning or else all my hard work will be undone and we'll have to do it all again."  
Cut cut cut.  
Soak soak soak.  
Sew sew sew.  
She dug into the ground with her fingertips, but felt nothing. She instinctively knew the dainty fingers were moving, which was progress from what felt like hours before at the beginning of this ordeal. She was putting the pieces together better, though the picture that was forming in her mind was beyond belief.  
"Your face, though, this is where things get interesting. I haven't seen too many of these in this graveyard. It looks like your body has been tampered with to prevent any kind of spirit retrieval; they've sewn your lips shut, which could only mean that someone didn't want your ghost to talk."  
No! But that would mean that she was—  
Hands wrapped around her back and pulled, propping her body up against cold stone. The knife gently sawed against her mouth, and after several small snaps, she found that her lips were able to move again, though the ends of the threads that were embedded in her flesh tickled. She took a gulp of air, which rasped on the way in and back on the way out.  
Her jaw, now that it had been freed from its threaded position, fell open, and try as she might, she couldn't get it to close again on its own. Her arms felt strong enough to move, though they were making the journey up her torso and chest quite slowly.  
"This'll have to be replaced," the voice said. "It's not going to last."  
A hand covered her eyes, and she heard rhythmic chanting. Energy from nowhere pulled itself around her face. A small light prickled in front of her eyes, growing and beginning to take shape, before being flooded by purples and greens. A shadow loomed above her; she couldn't focus enough to make out what it was.  
"I'm afraid your actual eyes have decomposed, and I haven't got any spares, so we'll have to make do with magic. Which just leaves the—watch out, now! Careful!"  
Her hands had completed the journey and she now touched at her face, pushing at her jaw and willing it to close. If only it would stay! She felt like her body was going out of its way to rebel against her. It was so weak and pathetic, refusing to yield to even the most basic of commands.  
She dropped her hands from her lips in frustration.  
"No, don't! You'll—"  
Her index finger caught on her spiky teeth and pulled. She heard—and felt—the tearing from the bottom of her face. A small mass fell into her hands. She willed them back up to see what she had caught.  
Her sight finally focused, letting her take in the decaying teeth that lined what was left of her jaw.  
She tried to speak, but her tongue would not make the necessary movements to shape the sounds. Panic set in. The jaw slipped from her hands as she reached up to touch her face. The bone fell to the ground and split into three pieces; sending a few teeth flying. A long, dry tentacle was escaping from her mouth. Her tongue. It was her tongue! _It was her tongue and half of her face was missing!_  
The shadow slapped away her hands, but could not stop her from screaming over and over again as the revelation took hold of her whole soul. She had unwillingly torn herself apart. She was dead, and her body was falling to pieces.  
"Calm down, calm down, I can get you a fresh one!" said the skeleton looming above her.  
She screamed harder.


	2. Something is very wrong here

The new jaw didn't fit right.  Occasionally it would hitch on one side, creating a clicking sound when she moved it.  She didn't care.  Nothing mattered at this point.  She was dead.  The still cognitive portion was going to take some getting used to.

"Who are you?" she managed to get out.

The bald skeleton that put her face back together was crouched down at her side.  She leaned against a gravestone next to a six foot ditch, clutching her legs to her chest.  What was left of her funeral shroud was wrapped around her body.

"I am the Undertaker," the skeleton said.  His eyes gleamed gold.  "I prepare the corpses for duty."

"Duty?"

"For the glory of serving the Dark Lady."

The Undertaker began to explain further about a ruling woman named Sylvanas but she didn't pay much attention.  She busied herself with an examination of her own body.  Despite the work that the Undertaker had done there were still pieces here and there on her body where bone was exposed.  A scar marred the center of her chest.  The sight of it disgusted her.  Her fingers ran along so many parts of it but there were no nerves to tell her what the flesh felt like.

"Now then, we'll get you suited up and you can be on your way to the Undercity before the night is out."

"And if I don't want to go to the Undercity, whatever that is?"

The Undertaker presented her with a set of robes, which she took with some trepidation before deciding that they would be a better thing to wear than a half-rotten shroud.  As she slipped the plain black cloth over her head the Undertaker replied, "If you want to go your own separate way that's fine.  But what of the Lady Sylvanas?"

"I want no part in this conflict of yours.  It doesn't have anything to do with me.  She'll have to accept that or send me back to my grave."

"The Dark Lady will accept that.  She does not require you to swear fealty.  She is a merciful ruler."  The Undertaker tapped his finger against his cheek.  "You have been dead for some time, though.  The world is very different."

The statement gave her pause.  "Do you know who I am?" she asked.

"You don't remember?"  He smiled.  "Poor thing.  That happens from time to time.  It will all come back eventually."

"But what do I do until then?"

She made to stand up, letting the rest of the robe fall down her legs.  The soft linen felt cool against what remained of her skin, but felt very off at the same time.  It was probably much different when she was still alive.

"I don't even know my own name, and yet I'm to just wander around without purpose until my memories deign me with their presence?  That's absurd."

She took a step and faltered, the skin on her legs pulling tight and hindering her progress.  The Undertaker stood up quicker than she could follow and caught her in his arms.

"Mind your step, we don't want anything else falling off after the scene you caused before."

He steadied her and took her by the hand, guiding her footsteps until she was comfortable moving on her own.  The Undertaker even pulled her to his side, spinning her around the open grave like they were in the middle of a grand ballroom instead of the open air of a cemetery.

"My my, Miss Rottonbottom, you are surely the most beautiful girl at tonight's gala!" the Undertaker said in a snooty voice.

She laughed.  The rough and wheezy sound of it surprised her, which made her laugh all the more.  The Undertaker twirled her and pulled her in close.  She leaned her head against his chest.  The dancing felt familiar to her, and she clung to the experience with desperate fervour.

The Undertaker stroked her hair down to her cheeks.  The gesture would have been romantic, but something that sounded like sandpaper caught her attention.  She looked to where her head rested, watching with horror as the skin quivered on its own.  A short moment later, a maggot crept out through a pock hole in his flesh, followed by three more.  She forced herself away in utter repulsion.

"My apologies," he said, a wheezy chuckle shaking his whole body.  "You got the worms excited.  But if you want answers to your identity, I suggest you start here."

The undertaker pointed to the open grave.  A grimy coffin lay open deep in the earth.

With trembling hands she slowly climbed down the side of the grave and let herself drop back into her casket.  She ruffled around the dirty linen that lined it, but nothing presented itself.  She lifted the pillow, tore at what was left of the fabric, but nothing was inside.

 _Blast!_   She slammed her hand against the lid of the coffin in frustration.  The lid bounced back and caught her across the forehead, knocking her down into the box and closing on top of her.

Once again she found herself trapped in the darkness.  At least this time she knew why.  She twisted in the dark; the mouldering fabric tore underneath her sharp fingers and toes and caught around her limbs, trapping her once more in a death shroud.  She attempted to claw free, but each movement only entangled her more.

She shouted out for help.  A thud erupted from the other side of the lid, followed by scratching and dragging.  A sliver of light poured forth, expanding into a blinding promise of freedom.  The Undertaker loomed over her prone form, smirking, or at least attempting to smirk, as what was left of his lips were curled back into a grimace.

She looked down at herself, extricating her arms and legs from the remains of her coffin lining.  There was a pressure bearing down on her brain, causing her head to throb.  She reached up, feeling for the cause.  She gasped.  She could feel a large indentation from where the coffin lid had hit her, caving in the skull.

"Now now, don't start that again," the Undertaker said, holding out his arm to help her up.  "I can fix that in a moment."

She caught the new scream that was bubbling through her throat and swallowed it back.  "I suppose now that I've died I'll have to get used to a little wear and tear," she muttered, accepting his assistance.

He pulled her to her feet before examining the wound more closely.  She reached up to feel it again, pulling her hand back to see that no blood was present on her fingertips.  Did she even have flowing blood in her body anymore?  There were so many questions that were threatening to burst out of her about how she lived despite the lack of a heartbeat.

The Undertaker plucked the broken bone from her forehead and pulled out his bottle, dipping his finger into the neck and upending it.  He held the pieces together and rubbed his dripping finger along the edges.  Elennah prodded at the now gaping hole in her skull and felt the squishy brain inside with the fingers of her right hand.  Her left arm jerked on its own accord.

"Don't touch that, dear, you don't know where your fingers have been."

"Attached to my hands, the last time I checked, or is there something you're not telling me?"

He chuckled, pushing aside her prodding fingers and placing the bone back in place.  She could feel an icy chill as magic fused the pieces together into a new—improved?—whole.  His attention turned back to her coffin before his eyes wandered back to her.  She only noticed now that she had no eyelids.  The faded eyeballs just moved around to wherever he wanted them to with an unwavering, unnerving stare.  She noticed a hair embedded in the left one but opted not to speak up about it.  It would probably have been quite rude to point out his imperfections when she was looking...however she was looking.

"You know," he said, "when I told you to start here, I didn't mean the inside of the coffin.  I meant the headstone."

"Oh...how thoughtless of me."

"The brain takes some time to kick back into full gear after reviving."

They climbed out of the coffin.  The Undertaker reached out to close the lid when she heard a faint clunk from inside of it.  "Stop!"

He opened the lid again and they both knelt down, looking at the interior of the lid.  She reached out and began to rap her knuckles against the wood.  The Undertaker shook the lid on its hinges, helping her pinpoint the source of the sound.  They traced it to the foot of the lid, but there was no obvious clue as to what they were hearing, other than the obvious fact that there was an extra part of the casket that was hollow.  The Undertaker climbed out of the grave, jumping back down with a shovel.  He gripped the tool tightly, aimed, and slammed the dull blade against the coffin lid.

With a crack the wood splintered apart, revealing a compartment behind it.  Inside laid an object wrapped in cloth.  She took it in both hands, unwrapping the fabric to reveal a dagger with a gold blade.

"A dagger?" she said.  "What's this doing here?"

"So carefully hidden, too," the Undertaker replied.  "Someone wanted to get rid of this.  Considering the state of your body—" he gestured to her mouth and chest, "—I believe we're looking at your cause of death."

She jumped back, dropping the dagger to the ground.  Her hand reached up to caress her bosom, fingers tracing along where she had discovered the scar when she woke up.

" _Murder_ ," she whispered.

The Undertaker plucked the dagger from the damp soil, turning it over and examining it further.  "But who were you in your past life?  What warranted your murder?"

Her gaze traveled up to her headstone.  The last name had faded with the changing seasons but the first name could still be read.  Elennah.  Based on the years she had died in her late twenties.  The date of her death...

"How long have I been buried?" she asked.

He counted on his fingers.  "A little over forty years."

Elennah took a deep, unnecessary breath and let that fact sink in.  By the Light, she could have been an old woman had she not met an untimely end.  She averted her gaze from the dates, her fingers tracing the lines of eroding rock up towards the head of the gravestone.  A cameo had been embedded into the marker, showing a profile of a young, beautiful, vibrant woman.  The piece must have been made of something stronger than mere rock because she could make out individual details.  The delicate cheekbones, the dainty nose, the full lips.

She pulled herself out of the grave, crawling up from the depths of her resting place only to drag herself on hands and knees to this small piece of art.  She stared at it in utter delight, letting a high-pitched giggle escape her.  Without even thinking her fingers scrambled against the stone, digging into the crevices surrounding the cameo before gaining enough hold to pull it out and into her grateful possession.  She held it tight to her chest, stopping only to examine it further.

The Undertaker appeared beside her, examining the cameo from over her shoulder.  "My, my, my," he muttered.

"It's me!" she said excitedly.  "Am I not beautiful?  Look at me!"

"You still are beautiful," the Undertaker said.  "Not much has changed in 40 years."

She sighed in delight.  "Surely this is the key to everything!  I'll be able to find out who I was from here on my own.  I'll just show this piece around and see if it strikes any chords of memory."

"Show it to whom?"

He rested his hand on Elennah's shoulder, giving it a small squeeze.  "My dear, you're dead.  Beautiful or not, no human will give you a chance to ask your questions.  Things have changed.  We are in a war with the living.  All they want is to send us back to our eternal sleep."

"But...but what do I do now?"

"Flee.  Live away from the humans.  There are other races we have allied ourselves with, but they don't trust us either.  All creatures, big or small, eventually perish.  What man would trust that which defies even that most basic law of nature?"

Elennah rose to her feet, placing the cameo into a pocket.  "But...I was murdered!  I have to find out why!  How can I do that if I'm barred from human civilisation?  How am I to discover who I am?"

The Undertaker shook his head.  "You'll have to settle for the only explanation that can present itself to you at this time."  He motioned towards her pocket.  "You were young and beautiful.  A man must have loved you.  Another must have been jealous.  If he couldn't have you, then the other man couldn't either.  It's a tragic tale.  Tragic, but one that's told repeatedly throughout the ages.  A woman cut down in her prime by the untethered ferocity of a wolf in sheep's clothing."

With that he struck a pose mirroring that of a storyteller, sweeping his arms about in a melodramatic fashion before he bowed deep before her.

The sight triggered something within her.  A dash of heat coursed through the tips of her toes up through her legs and torso before trickling into her neck and stopping at her cheeks.  The bow.  The bow!  There was something about the bow.

"Like a wild rose picked before it had the chance to burst into bloom," the Undertaker continued, carrying on with his charade.

_Flowers._

Elennah's fingers found themselves tracing up and down the folds of her robe.  No, she never used to wear these. Before these, she wore fine dresses, designed by the best.  Clothing, accessories, all of it was the best that money could buy.  And she could afford it because...because...

She cursed.  The memories still escaped her.  She could feel them trickling away like sand between her fingertips.  She began to pace around the grave, hands crossed over her chest, trying to bring a semblance of familiarity back from the vagaries that were now emptying themselves from her mind.

"This won't do.  I must know what happened."  She stopped, twisting to face the Undertaker.  "'You died because you were too beautiful' will not stand.  I _must_ find out the truth."

The Undertaker threw up his hands.  "How?"

"If I can't speak to the living about my memory, then I'll have to speak with the dead.  I need to find someone else who was around at the time of my death.  Someone with full control of their brain.  I can't afford to wait on my memories to come back to me."

"Why not?  You have eternity."

"You want me to wait an eternity to discover my true identity?  Who I am is all I have left from my past life!  And now it's _gone_!  I have no sense of purpose.  I have no reason to live.  Without my identity, I'm no better than—"

"Than a zombie."

"Yes.  My quest to uncover my identity is all I have."

The Undertaker crossed the short distance between them and cupped his cheek in her hand.  Elennah made no move to draw away.  His faded eyes bored into her sockets.  What he could be searching for, she was sure he would never find.  The eyes were the windows to the soul.  She had none.

"Very well," he said, releasing her and pointing into the distance.  "Follow that road to a Forsaken military outpost.  Keep away from other humans.  This area is controlled by the Horde but that doesn't mean that Alliance stragglers won't be looking for their next victim.  It won't do to have you murdered again.  You'll have to pass through a small village.  It's completely abandoned, and I forget the name of it.  Rest there if you must, but continue to the outpost.  Tell the bat handler that I sent you.  He'll give you transportation to the Undercity."

"What is the Undercity?"

"It's the home of the Forsaken, our kind.  It's where the majority of us not out on the front lines congregate.  Your best chance to find out who you used to be lies there.

"But before you go..."

He held out the dagger.  "Take this for protection."

Elennah stared at the small blade for a long moment before accepting it.  The Undertaker rummaged through his bags before producing a belt for her to wear, allowing her to sheath the weapon at her side.

"Once you reach the Undercity seek out help from the Magic Quarter.  The Val'kyr sensed something strong from within your grave.  Perhaps they can help you harness it."

"What do you mean?"

"You'll find out."

She let the topic drop.  "Thank you," she said.  "For everything.  I don't know how to repay you."

The Undertaker dropped to one knee and took her hand, kissing her knuckles.  "Good luck.  Come back to me if you need any assistance.  I'll be here waiting for you."

"You won't come with me?"

"Lady Sylvanas is waiting for me to send her more soldiers.  My place is here."

"I see."  Elennah looked around her.  The graveyard was so small, and up until now, the only living creatures present were the two of them.  Other graves had been dug up, and she was sure that if she checked, the coffins would be empty as well.  However, there was still more work to be done.

"Goodbye then, take care," she said, and departed for the outpost.


End file.
